


Facade

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 02:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18907891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Noctis had learnt a long time ago how he was meant to present himself to the public.





	Facade

Noctis had learnt young how to present himself. How to speak and stand and where to be as his father addressed cameras and lights and intrusive questions. It wasn’t until later— when he was old enough to read, to watch the speeches and events and see himself standing just out of reach— that he understood why the same intrusive reporters with their big, fake smiles and their bright, hot lights, kept trying to draw him forward. 

“They think you’re cute,” Ignis said once, when he was seven and still learning that Ignis was older than him. 

“I’m not cute.” Noctis knew that much, at least. He was supposed to be like his father— regal and proud and kind and aloof and… not cute.

“If you say so.”

Noctis learnt when he was ten that he wasn’t supposed to hold his father’s hand when they were appearing for an event. He wasn’t supposed to duck behind the shadow of the royal attire, or hide his face. Before whatever appearance they were meant to make, Noctis would see his father’s familiar smile and nod along with the familiar reminders, the soft encouragements and little promises that came with vows of proper behaviour. But it was a hard habit to break. Especially when his back still hurt— the pain moving from leg to shoulder the longer he stood at his father’s side, aloof and quiet in the face of the questions and lights and scrutiny. 

Ignis had taken to hiding the pictures taken later— the news stories and theories, the fuss that rose around every little indication of limp or illness or discomfort. 

“When did they even get this one?” Noctis asked when he was seventeen, and Ignis could no longer keep the reports and images from him. 

It was a picture from after a training session, the two of them waiting for Gladio on the steps of the Kingsglaive building. Noctis hated the picture— he remembered the day, hot and humid and the cold soda in his hands in the stolen image was at treat after long hours catching up on sessions missed for exams. Noctis didn’t hate it because he remembered how dishevelled he was, or how the cool shower after the training had done almost nothing against the summer discomfort. It wasn’t even because, looking at the picture now, he could see how sweaty and sore he was, with his hand wrapped against the cuts and bruises from a hard fought training session.

Ignis was smiling in the photo. 

It wasn’t a smile meant for the cameras Ignis had found himself under due to his proximity to the throne. It wasn’t his calm, tight, professional smile on display during meetings and events, when his back was straight and he was the perfect image of Lucian nobility. It wasn’t even the grin that had been captured and shared before— the friendly, open look that Noctis knew from his friend. 

Ignis snatched the tabloid from his hands before he could turn the page and see what else had been captured and spread across the kingdom without their consent. But Noctis knew. 

“Specs—”

“Perhaps we should take care, Noct. No doubt this will be the topic of at least one meeting in the Citadel.”

The camera had captured the small, calm smile Ignis reserved for the little moments between them. They had caught the soft look and gentle smile that came a moment before some soft word or another— some pet name that made Noctis blush and try to laugh off, but fell so easily from Ignis’ lips. 

It was the moment before a kiss. 

They had been careful before, under the scrutiny of the kingdom. But it had been easy— after the stress of exams and the worry over the King’s health and the release of energy from the training they had just completed— to forget that there were eyes turned on Noctis too. 

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Noctis had learnt that there was an image he was meant to present— calm, collected, stately and smiling— to the world. He was meant to be the quiet, aloof Crown Prince, just as his father was the courageous, paternal symbol of the kingdom. He was meant to appear stronger than he felt, calmer than he felt, braver than he thought he could be. 

He wasn’t meant to kiss his boyfriend on the steps of a stately building under the hot summer sun. 

“Noctis—”

“It’s fine. We’ll be more careful.” He attempted a smile to discourage Ignis’ worry. “We’ll probably get an earful from Dad anyway.”

Ignis knew him better than that. He knew every smile and gesture and every small look of discomfort. 

But he returned the smile; “Gladio too, don’t forget. I doubt he’ll let us live this down.”

Noctis had learnt long ago how to present himself before the kingdom. How to stand and smile and give non-answers to the press with their hot lights and loud calls for attention. He had learnt to mimic his father’s bravery, the straight back and gentle eyes that he never felt was sincere when he was just attending a party or speech or some event or another. 

But he had also learnt how to take the attention away from his friends. Away from Ignis, who preferred to work out of the spotlight, in the office he was granted at fifteen, and in the little meetings that never appeared in the news. Ignis preferred his name out of the papers, though they understood it was a hazard of birth for Noctis. 

“Might see if he wants to go out camping,” Noctis suggested. “Might take the heat off.”

“If you feel that’s best.”

“You’re the one with all the strategy, Specs.”

Ignis smiled, and offered a small kiss to Noctis’ lips— in the quiet privacy of the familiar apartment, where they didn’t need to be careful. “I may be compromised, darling. I would happily fill these pages with declarations of love.”

“Gross.”

“Indeed.”

Noctis slouched, blushing and hiding behind his phone and fighting to keep the smile from his face, even as Ignis turned away with a satisfied little hum. “Love you too, Specs.”


End file.
